


Frivolous Miracles and Undemonic Activity

by Petalene



Series: Ineffable Husbands Bingo [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crack, Humor, Implied Smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands Bingo, M/M, kink meme fill, so much crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 05:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20252632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petalene/pseuds/Petalene
Summary: Post armageddidn’t, Aziraphale and Crowley think of a way they can prank their respective bosses: division of miracles. Aziraphale goes overboard with sexual miracles, especially kinky ones, and Crowley goes overboard with romantic ones.After a few months, it gets to a point that both bosses are done. They wish they could stop this, but they are honestly terrified of their respective "immune-to-destruction" employees, so they just have to deal with it. But they don't want to read this shit anymore.





	Frivolous Miracles and Undemonic Activity

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for prompt on the GO kink meme and fill for my GO bingo square - crack. Story summary is a condensed version of the original prompt. Link to the original prompt in the end notes.

A pile of papers lands on the pristinely clean desk with a wisp of a sound. 

“What is this?” Gabriel doesn’t care so he shouldn’t ask.

“It’s the Frivolous Miracles Report.” The underling twists her hands together and won’t meet Gabriel’s gaze. 

“Who are you?” he asks. 

“Lana, sir.”

“I’m only supposed to get this report once a month, and I got one three weeks ago.”

“According to Celestial Accounting, anything over ten pages needs immediate attention.”

“Fine.” Gabriel picks up the pile and taps the bottom of the stack on the desk, ensuring the neat pile remains neat. 

He sets the papers down and picks up the first one. 

Name: Aziraphale - Principality, Guardian of the East Gate of Eden

“Not our jurisdiction,” Gabriel mutters. This shouldn’t be his problem. He can’t for the divinity of himself figure out how Aziraphale survived hell fire without dying or falling. Stupid demon loving angel. 

8:03 am - disappeared angelic come from skin  
8:04 am - disappeared demonic come from fabric  
9:22 am - incinerated a ticket for public indecency  
9:23 am - removed memories from a police officer about public indecency  
9:24 am - made police handcuffs appear in his pocket  
10:02 am - forced handcuffs to unlock

Gabriel turns over the next two pages and it takes him a moment to realize it’s still listing offenses from the same day. 

5:17 pm - forced handcuffs to lock  
5:18 pm - summoned lube  
5:18 pm - made people forget that they were ringing the police with a noise complaint  
5:18 pm - made police officers forget about several noise complaints

And it’s all Aziraphale. Ten pages of this ridiculousness. One frivolous miracle performed by The Angel That Wouldn’t Die after another. 

Gabriel smiles, forcing himself to remain calm. “Tell accounting to make the reports two columns per page.”

“Yes, Gabriel sir.”

The underling scampers off like a hellhound is after her. 

Noob.

Policy dictates that he address each and every issue individually. Well, policy can take a flying fuck at a rolling donut for all he cares. Gabriel drops all ten pages in the shredder at the same time and grinds his teeth when the thickness jams the machine.

§ § §

“All hail Lord Satan.” 

Beelzebub glances up. “All hail Lord Satan,” ze says. 

The minion is kind of cute but she doesn’t have enough despair about her to be completely appealing. Yet. Beelzebub figures in another few months, she’ll be perfect.

“What is this?”

“The Undemonly Report,” the minion says and then takes two steps back, diverting her eyes.

At least the minion has the bad sense to be terrified of zir.

“It’s ten pages.”

“Yes, it is. Crowley has been up to good. Downstairs wanted to loop you in on the situation.”

“Stupid bloody wankers,” Beelzebub says. “Crowley fell from heaven. And he’s been cast out of Hell, too, as far as I’m concerned. This is not my problem.”

“A thousand apologies. Infernal Accounting specifically requested that you handle this.”

“Of course they did.”

How good can it be? This is Crowley they’re talking about, a demon who spent six thousand years on earth preforming temptations and causing trouble.

6:50 pm - made birds suddenly appear in a two-block radius  
7:18 pm - created rose petals  
7:18 pm - summoned two dozen candles.  
7:18 pm - lit two dozen candles  
7:19 pm - convinced the oldies radio station to play nothing but love songs with no commercials for five hours

“What the actual fuck?” Beelzebub says. “Rose petals? Candles? Romantic music? It sounds like he’s in a Hallmark movie.”

“Oh, no, Beelzebub. If Crowley were in a Hallmark movie he would be a person who has been working too hard and has forgotten that the meaning of Christmas isn’t commercialism. And then his true love Aziraphale would teach Crowley that Christmas is magical and love is possible even for somebody as cynical as he is.”

With a single snap, Beelzebub incinerates the idiot to a small pile of ash.

Demons don’t discuss the magic of Christmas. Fuck. This. Noise.

The papers smolder and burn. When only ash remains, Beelzebub brushes it onto the floor, watching with satisfaction as it lands on top of the pile of ashes that used to be an incompetent minion. Ze brushes zir hands together getting as much ash off as ze can with as little effort as possible. 

§ § §

“I can’t get it up.” Crowley sprawls naked across his bed, he’s sticky and covered in love bites. The mess they made is epic. 

Aziraphale is also a wreck, his normally pristine hair is everywhere and the dopey smile really sells the sex-stupid look. “Yes, dear. Well, we’ve been going at it for days. I think I’m starting to feel my age a little.” 

“I don’t mean my dick, angel, I mean my arm. Not even sure I can snap.” His hand twitches, but his fingers don’t touch. “Actually, I can’t get my dick up right now either.”

“It’s your turn,” Aziraphale says.

And he sounds way too coherent for someone who’s been fucking Crowley nonstop for the last few hours. 

“Seriously? You can’t mean right now.”

“We have a deal.”

“We have a bet.”

“You forfeit?”

“Goonies never say die,” Crowley mumbles. If a demon can get drunk off too much sex and too many miracles, then that’s what’s causing his current exhaustion. 

“What’s a goonie?” 

“I can’t even with this right now. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll fix up a bath, then you take care of the bed. In the morning, I’ll miracle up a movie theater with a full breakfast and we’ll watch Goonies and several iconic films you’ve probably missed.”

Aziraphale pouts, his nose wrinkling adorably. “Movies?”

“Then we can go to the bookshop and you can read on the couch while I lay my head on your lap. Human or snake form, dealer’s choice.”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale says. 

Crowley uses the last of his energy to create a spa style hot tub in the bathroom along with several flowering plants, lit candles, and music. They are both too exhausted for romance or sex, but Hell doesn’t have to know that. Only the promise of a long, hot soak with Aziraphale allows Crowley to consider dragging himself to the bathroom.

“What about the bet?” Aziraphale asks. 

Crowley peels himself off the bed, yanking on his arm because his elbow sticks to the sheet. How in the name of Lucifer did he get come on the back of his arm? Or is that lube? “Get creative. This was your idea.”

It started as a joke Aziraphale made about how he’s got to be on the naughty list for frivolous miracles after armageddidn’t. Which turned into Crowley boasting that he must be pissing Hell off even more with all his good deeds. Of course, they argued about who was making their former leaders the most angry because they argue about everything. And it escalated to “who can get something in writing demanding that they knock it off with the miracles” first. The winner gets a blow job. 

Which is whatever. They’ve been pretty much fucking and sucking since the notpocalypse with occasional breaks for food and naps, but it’s the principal of the thing. Crowley will win. 

To keep things fair, Crowley does something nice that creates more love and romance in the world and then Aziraphale does something naughty to create more sex and lust. Crowley is cheating and doing extra miracles, but Aziraphale is totally doing the same thing (probably) so it’s fine. Besides, Gabriel won’t want to acknowledge the one he couldn’t destroy. Middle management could take years to get someone who’s willing to put a stop to the angel who stood in a column of hellfire while smiling. Someone in Hell has got to have enough of a temper to do something rash. How long can everyone keep ignoring all the shenanigans? Doesn’t matter, it gets funnier the longer they don’t get a response. 

§ § §

Some time later, give or take because time works differently in Heaven as compared to earth. 

Lana approaches Gabriel’s desk with a stack of papers in her hand. He doesn’t say a word, simply raising one eyebrow and glaring.

“Hi. I have another report for you, Gabriel, sir.”

Gabriel rests his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers together.

“Here,” she says holding the papers out.

The glaring continues and Gabriel makes no move to take the papers from her.

“Tell accounting to make the font smaller and have three columns per page. I don’t want another one of these any time soon.”

“I’ll just leave this right here.” Lana sets the papers on the corner of the desk and backs away slowly without taking her eyes off of Gabriel.

6:17 pm - created leather pants  
6:17 pm - summoned snakeskin boots  
6:17 pm - summoned fishnet shirt  
6:18 pm - created leather corset

The next dozen or so things are mostly summoning or creating clothing related items. Leather collar, studded cuffs, suede flogger, nipple clamps, mesh pouch underwear, and on and on. Gabriel can’t restrain himself from making a face. 

He can see how Aziraphale might be able to pull off some of these clothing choices, especially if he puts on his pouty bitch face. But Gabriel certainly doesn’t want to see the Demon Spawn wearing black leather pants and a corset. 

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad; dress him up, stick a gag in his mouth, and torture him until he thinks Hell was a paradise.

Gabriel shakes his head, mentally letting go of the fantasy.

8:29 pm - let himself and Crowley to the front of the line without causing any issues  
8:30 pm - made the bouncer waive the cover charge  
8:31 pm - got the DJ to play Queen music all night  
8:32 pm - convinced a bartender to make extra strong drinks at half the price

Did they really have to go to a bondage club? Well, it could be worse. They could have gone somewhere besides a club dressed like that. 

8:51 pm - got the DJ to play Bohemian Rhapsody several times in a row  
8:51 pm - convinced people not to notice Bohemian Rhapsody playing several times in a row  
8:52 pm - convinced people not to notice gratuitous grinding  
9:07 pm - convinced people not to notice gratuitous groping 

Gabriel picks up the stack of papers without reading anymore and puts one sheet of paper through the shredder at a time.

§ § §

“Hail Satan!” The newest minion puts his hand up and practically beams. 

“Hail Satan,” Beelzebub says because ze has to, not because ze is feeling particularly warm or fuzzy towards the big boss. 

“I have a report for you,” he says, putting it on the desk. And then he runs off without a word. 

Where are they getting these minions? He’s probably terrified Beelzebub will smite him. Doesn’t matter because ze will.

7:15 pm - convinced a boat captain to take him and Aziraphale on a private cruise.  
7:16 pm - convinced the crew that it’s normal to only have two passengers on a luxury cruise.  
8:25 pm - conjured a fireworks display  
8:31 pm - made the fireworks spell Crowley loves Aziraphale  
9:07 pm - convinced the chef to make dessert crepes 

Beelzebub lights the paper on fire and glances at the next one.

6:15 pm - convinced people in Trafalgar Square near the fountain to sing backup for “Heaven is a Place on Earth”  
6:15 pm - got the fountain in Trafalgar Square to perform a light and water display to “Heaven is a Place on Earth”

Ze incinerates the paper. 

2:01 pm - grew an apple tree in Regent’s Park  
2:02 pm - put up an invisible privacy wall at Regent’s Park  
2:52 pm - summoned lube  
4:18 pm - summoned lube  
6:07 pm - summoned lube 

How long were they fucking for? All damn day apparently. And why an apple tree? Wait. It was either for kinky role playing purposes or because that chubby angel won’t stop stuffing his face. 

8:37 pm - opened a reservation at the Ritz for dinner and for a room

The next twelve items on the list are all “summoned lube.”

Beelzebub sets the papers on fire and drops them in the bin, smiling when the rubbish and the bin catch fire. 

§ § §

“I think they’re terrified of us,” Aziraphale says. “Still no reprimand.”

“Damn straight. I’m a bad ass mo fo who took a holy water bath and you’re a stone cold bitch who didn’t lose your attitude while standing in hellfire.”

Aziraphale frowns. “I’m not a bitch.”

“Yeah, you are. But don’t worry. I like it.” Crowley makes kissy lips at Aziraphale.

“We should go to the bookshop. I can’t remember the last time we were there.”

Crowley can’t remember what month it is. 

“Absolutely!” He wants a nap. And the naps where Aziraphale reads and occasionally strokes Crowley’s hair are the best ever. Now all he needs to do is get Aziraphale sucked into a series and he can sleep for a few days.

The air in the bookshop is stale and dusty. Oops. Maybe they need to do miracles and have sex here for at least a few days. Aziraphale loves his bookshop and Crowley loves things his angel loves. Especially when it means he gets to sleep.

“I don’t know where to start,” Aziraphale says, tapping his lower lip with his finger. “It’s been so busy and I’ve been dreaming about curling up with a book.”

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live,” Crowley says.

“Hmm? That’s not Shakespeare, is it?”

“No, it’s by the most brilliant author ever.”

“Oscar Wilde.”

“JK Rowling!”

Aziraphale doesn’t react.

“Harry Potter?”

“Who?”

“Specky git. Think if Anathema and Newt had an eleven year old son.”

A slow shake of his head is Aziraphale’s only reply.

“I’m going to tie you to a chair and force you to join the new millennium.”

“Kinky.”

“You’re a brat, but this is perfect.”

Several books appear on the end table next to the couch along with a full tea service and a plate of crepes. 

Crowley kicks off his boots, summons two blankets, and flops on the couch. “Start with the one on top.”

A few snaps later, the bookshop is dusted and sparkling clean, vases of red roses decorate the desk and tables, and the soundtrack to the Harry Potter movies plays softly in the background. A plate of food and several bottles appear next to the tea tray. 

“Pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, jelly slugs, ice mice, and Butter Beer,” Crowley says, pointing at each item. “I didn’t make any Bertie Bott’s Beans. You’re welcome.” Another two snaps and Aziraphale’s blanket changes color to navy and copper stripes. Crowley’s shifts to green and silver. 

“Trust me. Hell with think I’ve lost my mind, miracling up a bunch of Harry Potter things and then nothing for a few days. This’ll keep them guessing.”

“Why these colors?”

“It’s for a lover of books and the smartest person I know.”

“I’m going to take a nap with you. Then I’ll let you sleep while I read the books.” 

One more snap from Crowley. “The food’ll keep forever if you want it to.”

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale says.

§ § §

It’s been three days since Gabriel got a report. A beautiful and glorious three days. 

Gabriel breathes deeply. The air tastes wonderful and he doesn’t even have tastebuds. The sky is always a perfect shade of blue, but today, it’s especially beautiful.

Until Lana approaches. She doesn’t bother with any niceties this time, she sets the report on Gabriel’s desk and bolts. 

It’s three columns per page of one hundred or so lines in a barely legible 6 pt font

8:17 am - summoned a mini bottle of lube  
8:19 am - summoned a mini bottle of lube  
8:21 am - summoned a mini bottle of lube  
8:23 am - summoned a mini bottle of lube  
8:26 am - summoned a mini bottle of lube

That’s all it says, every two or three minutes for over sixty hours. What on God’s green earth could Aziraphale possibly want with fourteen hundred mini bottles of lube? Gabriel’s mind hits an invisible and impenetrable brick wall.

The next report is going directly in the shredder without being read.

“Are you all right, Gabriel sir?” Lana asks timidly.

“I’m perfectly fine. Why?”

“The skin under your right eye is twitching.”

“I have a heavenly body, I don’t have skin under my eyes,” Gabriel says. This time, he feels it twitch. 

“We can have someone take a look at that.”

Through gritted teeth, Gabriel says, “There’s nothing for anyone to see.”

§ § §

Crowley rolls over and opens his eyes. He’s been asleep for a few days at least. 

“There you are, my dear.” Aziraphale strokes his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “You’ve been out almost a week.”

“Did you finish the books?”

“I did and they were lovely.”

Crowley smiles sleepily. “What else did you do?”

Aziraphale smirks and a mischievous twinkle lights his eyes. “I decided on something that wouldn’t wake you. While reading all the Harry Potter books, every time I finished a page, I summoned a mini bottle of lube. I was going to summon a bunch of condoms, too, but I thought this was funnier. Don’t worry, I’ll donate them to the health clinic.”

Crowley breathes, “How many?”

“Fourteen? Fifteen hundred. It was every two or three minutes for sixty three hours. I might have gotten a little carried away. I did get rather caught up in the story.”

“Gabriel is going to get a report that you summoned a bottle of lube every two minutes for two and a half days? What is he going to think we’re doing with all that lube?” Crowley wheezes with laughter. 

Aziraphale shrugs. “Damned if I know.”

§ § §

“I don’t want it.” Beelzebub has gotten a six day reprieve from this insanity and ze isn’t letting go of it without a fight and at least two incinerated minions.

That brings the minion up short. “But I was told to give it to you.”

“No.” You can’t lose the game if you don’t take the field. Or you can burn the field and discorporate all the players, but some discretion is occasionally warranted. 

“Official Policy states-”

“Let me stop you right there,” Beelzebub says, holding zir hand up before the minion can continue. “I don’t care.”

“No problem. They told me to read it to you if you didn’t want to take it.”

The minion grimaces.

“At 6:58 am, Crowley summoned twelve hundred twigs. At 6:59 am, Crowley summoned thirteen dozen skeins of iridescent glitter yarn. At 7:00 am, Crowley summoned twenty four hundred white swan feathers.”

Beelzebub shrieks. “Give me that paper!”

“Great. It’s kind of long and I don’t want to read the whole th-”

The pile of ash that was a minion dissipates with a gust of breath as Beelzebub screams. 

Crowley wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. The desperate hope that this is somehow a joke and Crowley was playing the angel with a secret evil plan waiting in the wings dies a swift and violent death. 

There’s only one thing he’s building with twigs, yarn, and feathers. 

A nest.

A fucking nest for his fucking pet bird. 

Angels have a nesting instinct. Demons usually don’t, but they know what it means. 

It means eternity to beings who understand what forever is. A soul bond that not even death or discorporation can sever. 

Beelzebub is still sitting in the exact same position, frozen in horror and shock the next day when another report is dropped on zir desk. Ze doesn’t even manage to burn the reports before the minion flees. 

§ § §

“What are you up to, my dear?” Aziraphale asks, stopping short when he enters the spare room above the bookshop. “Is that a nest?”

“Damn it. You aren’t supposed to see it yet. Still needs a few finishing touches.” Crowley stands up and puts his arms on his hips like it will block the view of the nest. So he opens his wings. 

“It’s lovely.”

“Of course it’s lovely, I’m making it for you.

It is lovely. The twigs have been carefully twisted into a shallow basin twelve feet across with thousands of white feathers interwoven in between to make it softer than a mattress. Folded up next to it are several blankets knit into the lightest of fabrics with a different wing pattern on each one. 

“This is a once in an existence kind of thing,” Aziraphale says. 

“That’s the point.”

“And?”

“Angel, I choose you. If I have one choice, it’s you. If I have a thousand or a million choices, I choose you. If you ask me in a year, or a century or a millennia, I choose you. It’s always been only you.”

“No, I mean you already built a nest. It’s at your flat. Been there for a while.”

“I haven’t forgotten. This one is for here and I summoned all the supplies. Beelzebub will have an aneurysm when ze gets the next report.” Crowley cackles menacingly.

“That’s a publicly definitive statement.”

“I’ll shout it from the rooftops. I’ll make a video and force it to go viral. I will cheerfully tell anyone and everyone that I love you and we are forever. Then we’ll use that gorgeous, brilliant mind of yours and come up with an epic way to let Heaven know, too. Think of this as celebrating our anniversary.”

“It’s not our anniversary.”

Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale. “Everyday with you is a reason to celebrate. It can be like renewing our vows.”

A tear drips down Aziraphale’s cheek. 

“No, angel, no. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It’s a happy tear, darling. Come on. Take me to bed or lose me forever.”

Crowley gasps. “You did finish watching that movie while I was napping!”

“I kept waiting for Iceman and Maverick to kiss. They seemed very bisexual for each other.”

“They were totally banging. The characters and the actors.” 

“Your influence?” 

“Nope. That was all them.” 

Time to focus on more important things. Crowley cups Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kisses him. 

Pulling back, Aziraphale says, “I’m going to summon some wax play candles, but just for ambiance. Don’t you dare suggest anything that might damage this beautiful creation.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

So Aziraphale does five miracles to set the mood for a celebration of the bond between them. 

And then Crowley does seven because one of them is going to win the bet and it’s going to be him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first GO fic, but I’m signed up for GO bingo, so I’ll be posting more as inspiration strikes and time permits. Thank you for reading and I think I hit all the bonus points, except Crowley INSISTED on getting the last word in. Hugs and kisses. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are better than cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.
> 
> original prompt : https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=591208


End file.
